V5 Announcements

Credit to the staff for writing the announcements: Clueless, MurderWeasel, Ruggahissy, MK Kilmarnock,Violent-Medic, and Rattlesnake

The First Announcement
THURSDAY, JUNE 14, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

At the heart of an internationally infamous terrorist organization was not where one would typically expect to find a person who, a few short years ago, had been an aspiring criminal psychologist, but fate could work in mysterious ways. Monica Brown had been close to the top of her class before graduation. Her future had looked bright, and passably exciting, if perhaps not what all the crime shows made it out to be. She'd had some offers for jobs, and if they had not been exactly lucrative, they had at least been steady, with room for advancement. Her future had looked clear, like what she'd always thought she'd wanted. Her parents had been proud.

And then, a few days before finals and graduation, the man had shown up. He'd introduced himself as Jim, and had told her that he'd been watching her for a while. Then he'd laid out, with near-perfect precision, how she'd cheated her way through every year of her exams, how she'd selectively plagiarized sections of her papers. And then, when she'd been ready to deny, to argue, to try to think her way out of getting caught and protect that boring-yet-steady future, he'd revealed that he wasn't anyone concerned with academic dishonesty at all. No, he'd let her know he had a job offer for her, one that would be both financially rewarding and exciting.

She'd taken him up on it so quickly, even he'd seemed a little surprised.

Monica liked to refer to her position as Director of Lateral Thinking, but officially she was in the Chief of Security. Oh, sure, there were people who outranked her, people who shared in her responsibilities. She reported to Sonia Nguyen and Steven Wilson, worked hand in hand with Lourvey and Abby and the rest of techs, but to all of them, the security and smooth operation of the game was simply one of many duties. For Monica, it was the sum total of her job.

She knew that failure here would be bad news. She knew she would be incredibly lucky to survive anything like what had happened last version, even if she wasn't killed during a hypothetical attack. Greynolds had made it clear that one did not retire from the Arthro Taskforce, and that there wasn't any position in the organization for a chronic failure. The idea, rather than being frightening, was energizing. It gave her motivation, a connection to her work, a drive. The cheating back in school, it had never been solely because the work was too hard for her. That slight element of danger, of rule-breaking, kept her focused. It let her care.

She took a long sip from her glass of water, rubbed her forehead, adjusted her glasses. Her hair was starting to get greasy already. She hadn't showered since the day before the kidnapping, focusing on sleeping as much as possible in the run-up to the students' arrival. Proper rest was vital to doing a good job, and she was preparing herself for the performance of a lifetime.

Her office was not a large room, and it felt even more constrained, overflowing as it was with a small refrigerator, a half-full trash can, two large, plug-in fans, and mountains of computer equipment. Had she not been such a thin woman, it would have likely been difficult to maneuver around. One console fed into ten separate monitors, each one tracking a different student. There were dedicated techs watching people more specifically, largely based on her directions, but Monica preferred being able to keep an eye on things herself. There were little behavioral things that the techs would miss, just like there were technical things they would be able to spot that she was completely ignorant of.

Thus far, the game was progressing nicely. Monica had insisted that paper and writing utensils be taken from the students but left on the island. The grunts had bitched about that for weeks, and more than once she'd been ribbed for her logic at the lunch table, but she had remained resolute. It was simple, she'd explained.

By removing the paper from the students' possession, it made undetectable communication inconvenient, stopping anything from being hatched spur of the moment. By leaving paper and pens available around the island, they allowed students who were intent on sneaking things under the radar to acquire the means to do so. They were sure to figure out some way eventually anyways; by leaving them a fairly easy option, the taskforce controlled the form that was most likely to take. Students who sought what they had been denied were, if only in a small way, rebelling against the implicit rules of the game, which marked them as possible troublemakers. Anyone so much as carrying a pen had someone watching them closely, and Monica herself checking in on them periodically. Everything she'd seen of them thus far had only solidified her confidence in that decision.

She had only read the student profiles a few days before the abduction, to better keep herself free of preconceptions. They were all stored on her laptop, which sat one the left side of her desk, at a right angle to the keyboard controlling the bank of monitors. The profiles, a series of documents in a database accessed through a spreadsheet of her design, were arranged not numerically, but rather by who seemed most likely to cause trouble. Monica had a system down pretty well there, a mix of traits suggesting rebelliousness, similarities to previous problem children, and gut instinct. Anyone who even slightly reminded her of herself got marked in red as someone to watch.

The last thing on her desk was a netbook, opposite the laptop. It had one purpose, and one purpose only: with about fifteen seconds of work, Monica could detonate any student's collar, or, if that seemed too extreme, send a warning beep or activate a speaker in their vicinity to address them. Greynolds had told her not to be shy about doing what had to be done, and if the thought of killing someone with the push of a few keys was a touch disconcerting, there was also something more than a little exciting about the prospect.

In a way, she was just as much a player in this game as any of the students. The only difference was, she was specifically competing against the cheaters, and she had all the tools she needed to win.

As a girl on one of the screens scribbled on a piece of paper, Monica took another sip of water and reached for the phone hung on the wall behind her to check in with the techs.

The first day was almost over, so the desperation would really be sinking in soon. That meant things were about to get interesting.

FRIDAY, JUNE 15, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

Sitting behind the desk, Tracen did his best not to fidget. He'd been here before, once or twice, in preparation. He knew how to handle the equipment, had taken a few dry runs with it, but it was different now that he was about to speak for real. He'd talked with Greynolds about it, taken what advice he could, though the man had been rather apathetic towards the whole process. Tracen had listened to and watched the tapes of his father performing the same duty, had tried to study them for technique. It was difficult; the man had changed his presentation often, the only thing binding the performances their energy. It was not an energy Tracen was sure he could, or wanted to, recreate.

He had a sheet of paper in front of him, on it written the names and causes of death, just in case he found himself at a momentary loss. He'd watched the tapes, several times apiece, and was pretty sure he wouldn't mess anything up. It had been memorable, more so knowing it had just happened than watching tapes of kids who'd died years before.

The technician on the other side of the room flashed him a thumbs up. It was just like the practice runs. Tracen took two deep breaths, let the tension flow out of him. He took a sip of coffee from the mug that was the only thing besides the paperwork and the microphone in front of him. Then he nodded. There was a click, and a light beside the technician flashed green. All across the island, speakers roared to life.

"Good morning, everyone. I hope those of you who slept got some good rest. The rest of you, well, at least you're alive to hear this. That's more than I can say for some of your classmates.

"Yes, we've already seen eight deaths. That's a pretty lousy rate, but I have hope for you yet. After all, there are dangerous people out there, and I'm only going to be telling you about the ones who succeeded. At least twice as many didn't quite manage to make things stick.

"First to die was David Russell, who either decided he couldn't deal with the stress or went absolutely bugfuck. He walked right off a cliff, splattered all over the rocks, and earned the prestigious Remi Pierce award for lemmings.

"After that, our first kill came at the hands of Theodore Fletcher, who gunned down Gabriella Parker. Saying 'pretty please don't shoot me' turns out to not be as effective at keeping you alive as, say, running away? Who could've guessed?

"Anyone?

"Bueller?

"Oh, that's right. It's common sense. Best keep that lesson in mind in the future. You're in a no-holds-barred match now, and relying on mercy is a great way to get killed. Remember, only one of you is going home.

"A short time later, Hansel Williams, our very own resident cowboy, decided to become an outlaw. It might not've been his first stickup, but his encounter with Daniel Whitten was by far his most deadly engagement of the day. Points for marksmanship, Williams. It almost makes up for your poor showing at the amusement park earlier.

"Theodore Fletcher didn't quite manage a hat trick, but he did collect a second point when he gunned down Dan Liu. Dan thought he might've found a good ally, only to discover he'd fatally misplaced his trust. Someone didn't look to his right like I told him to.

"And Jason Meyers didn't keep an eye on his own allies. He was gunned down by Joe Carrasco, who was supposed to be his friend. I'm glad to see that someone took away the right message from our little movie screening.

"Another enthusiastic participant was the up-and-coming Katarina Konipaski. Kelly Peterson wandered away from her companion, and reaped what she sowed when Konipaski reaped her. Death isn't the only one packing a scythe.

"But good old Death was busy today too. I've looked over the tapes a few times, and I can't quite pinpoint how it happened, but a simple trip led to a collision that sent David Zimmer for a swan dive off the hotel's balcony. I'd watch out for safety rails elsewhere. You know how it is; things got rushed and we didn't have time to get the inspectors in. Don't tell city council.

"Finally, Iselle Ovalle-Vandermeer put her softball skills to use and knocked Sven Olsen for a home run he won't ever be getting up from. Kids with kids just don't have it easy here, do they? Better get used to the Tyke, Mr. and Mrs. Victorino, unless your daughter manages to step it up.

"As promised, there are some places you need to stay out of. Our danger zones for today are The Amusement Park, The Airstrip, and The Hotel. Oh, and one last little rule I forgot to mention: we have a little vote here in the offices every day, about who had the most impressive kill for the day. The winner gets a new weapon and, as a new addition this year, a little something else. Today, we picked Katarina Konipaski. Congratulations, Katarina. You can make your way to The Amusement Park, where there's a box with a gun in it, two cans of Coke, and a double cheeseburger waiting for you. Hop to it, and it may still be hot.

"I'll catch everyone who survives tomorrow. Do a good job, and we'll cook up something special for you, too."

The second announcement
Richards liked the night beat more than his co-workers. It was quieter. Fewer people were around aside from maybe the drunks. Usually what he saw was something innocent mistakenly reported as a crime rather than actual crime. He was sure he'd never forget - or be allowed to forget - that time he'd almost arrested three members of a local book club.

Richards adjusted his vest. It was a bulky thing, but he was pretty sure he'd be grateful for the Kevlar sooner or later.

He turned a corner and stopped short, paused, and then stepped back to the right and behind the corner. A little ways down the street at the mouth of an alleyway there was a collection of figures standing in the shadows. Normally, Richards would've put it down to a huddle of hobos or something, if he hadn't seen flashes of metal, a glimpse of something that looked very much like a briefcase. Had he run across some kind of covert deal? Decently dressed, definitely no hobo and definitely carrying a gun.

He keyed his radio.

"Looking like a possible 966 in progress on 24th street... at least one suspect armed. Requesting backup, over."

"Baines here. I’m in the area. Be there in two, over."

Richards was hoping for more than one response. However, as the radio went quiet, it quickly became clear that was all he was going to get. The more he glanced around the corner at those covert figures, the more it seemed like there couldn't be anything else that they were doing. It was like 1am, they weren't outside of a bar or a club, and even if they weren't exactly hiding they were-

Two, three of the figures went into the alleyway itself. One stayed at the alley mouth. Keeping watch? Undoubtedly.

Richards stepped around the corner, loosening his service pistol in its holster. Suddenly there was a shout.

"NYPD! FREEZE!"

A cry of "Shit!" echoed from within the alleyway and the guy standing at the mouth panicked, bolting away from the voice... towards Richards.

The cop went low and body checked the runner, slamming into him so hard that the perp bounced straight off him and went careening to the ground. Rapid footfalls followed the departure of those in the alleyway. They were gone.

Businesslike, Richards rolled the groaning suspect over, cuffed him, and read him his rights, before confiscating his gun.

More footsteps, and Richards straightened up to glare at his erstwhile back-up.

"Great job," he snapped. "You spooked them. Three got away."

A laconic shrug from Baines. "We got one. Didn't fire any shots, and pretty sure they're not gonna be swapping any drugs tonight, right?"

Richards paused... and then folded his arms with a slight sigh. "Yeah okay, but I'd rather have brought them in."

"If you think you could've taken four guys with guns, then sure. Now we've got a suspect and nobody's dead. Everyone wins," he glanced down at the groaning perp. "Well. Except that guy."

That forced out a smile.

"All right. I see your point. Let's get this guy to a nice warm cell."

"Those cells are nicer than my apartment."

"You live in a junkheap? You smell like it."

FRIDAY, JUNE 15, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

Tracen sighed as he settled into his chair, unsurprised to find that he was far more accustomed to the office than he had been the previous morning. Everything gets easier with practice, he thought. Tracen had spent most of the day wondering if, or when, someone would criticize his last performance, and was relieved when no one had- at least not to his face. He found himself unsure whether that was out of respect for his father, rather than the quality of his public speaking. No one really spoke to him much anyway; the other staff generally avoided him.

He wondered if he was an adequate replacement for his father. Tracen lacked his father’s capacity for cruel humor and his mastery of lame puns, but he had tried his best to fill his father’s shoes. Perhaps he could get the staff to write his jokes for him. Tracen tapped his fingers against the desk as he waited for the technicians to finish rigging up the equipment.

A fresh mug of coffee sat on his desk when he entered, the cream and sugar packets littering the table indicating that it was made exactly how he liked it. Tracen had no idea who put it there, but it made him question how much his father had meant to the people who worked there and whether he would ever mean the same.

“Good morning, students. I hope this second day finds those still remaining well. Those of you who can hear me have indeed made it to day three. I congratulate you.

“Let’s see, in the early hours of the morning it looks like Amaranta Montalvo stabbed Michael Whaley to death with some broken glass from a snow globe. Improvisation is very important if you don’t have anything at your disposal so don’t be discouraged if you didn’t receive a good weapon!

“Our next kill comes to us courtesy of gravity. Wasn’t there someone last time that said something like that? In any case, Mark Little died from falling off the roller coaster. Which one of you put him in a roller coaster cart? That wasn’t very sporting.

“This next pair could teach the remaining students a thing or two about effective communication. It seems Megan Emerson and Francis St. Ledger were having an argument and she chose to effectively end the communication by pushing him down some stairs. This is also a lesson about having fights near the tops of stairs.

“Moving along we find the death of Kaitlyn Williamson, done in by rising star Miranda Millers and her spear. Right through the heart and you’re to blame.” Tracen hummed a moment before continuing.

“The next death shows that sometimes even death can be funny. Becca Everett was killed by Maximillian Sawyer. He shot her after distracting her with an exploding cigar. I have to give him points for ingenuity on that one.

“This one sees the return of an office favorite, the hunga munga. It’s very fun to say. Miles Strickland threw his and it hit Chuck Soileau. It should be obvious, but if you want to keep friends, you shouldn’t be throwing three-bladed weapons around carelessly.”

“It does seem a few of you have the proper spirit. Jaquilyn Locke and Joachim Lovelace were both trying to kill Miss Carmina Maliksi, but Joachim got to her first. Nothing like a team hunt through the woods to bond a team together.

“Our second catfight of the day was brought to us by Naomi Bell and Summer Simms. As much as we love pretty girls fighting, there could only be one victor and that was Simms.

“Next we have a trio of femme fatales, Lana Torres shot Venice Pennington-Johannes through the chest, little Yukiko Sakurai shoved Stacey Mordetsky off a small hill and Eliza Patton shot Luca Johanssen who then plummeted off the zip line platform to the ground. Those listening may be interested to know that of the 11 murders this announcement, seven of the killers were ladies. Well done to you, girls. SOTF is equal opportunity.

The very last death on the list is a late entry. Punch a third hole in Theo Fletcher’s frequent customer card. He’s at it again, this time dispatching Xavier Contel with his own gun. Fantastic.

That’s all for today. I hope you didn’t think we’d forget about the danger zones. Our danger zones for today are Lighthouse, The Homestead, and The Western Beach.

The winner of the office vote for our favorite kill is Summer Simms! Congrats! Please make your way to The Homestead and pick up your prize. Once there you will receive a very nice gun, a box of one dozen assorted doughnuts and a gallon of milk. Yum. Maybe you can share some with a friend.

Great job everyone. If you live long enough, we’ll have another chat."

The third announcement
SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, MORNING

Sophie McDowell Lauren Rowe Mirabella Strong Cyrus White

Monica Brown sat at her battle station and paged through her notes, her groupings, her monitors, once again. She'd actually managed a solid night's sleep. Jim Greynolds himself had wandered in around ten, peered over her shoulder for a while, standing slightly too close, then told her that he'd take things from here so she could be rested for the next shift. She hadn't argued, though it had rankled a little to leave her post. She didn't much care for picking work back up, especially after someone else left their fingerprints all over it.

But everything had been in order upon her return. Greynolds gave her a quick rundown of some of the night's highlights, but, as was apparently usual, most of the kids had slept through it. Monica was just checking a section of her list, adjusting for the death of one of her notables, when the phone beside her rang.

"Yes?" she said, picking up even as she let her eyes skim over the screens. She found it, middle row on the left, before Lourvey finished telling her the names of the students involved.

"Is it any risk?" she asked.

"No." It was unusual to hear that degree of confidence in the technician's voice. "A knife wouldn't scratch the finish. Like, they jam it right into the joints, it still won't make a dent."

"Okay," Monica said, a smile curving across her lips. "Thanks."

The students on her screen were messing with Rebecca Everett's corpse, and Monica found that she didn't particularly care that they wouldn't be able to cause enough damage to the collars by hand to make them detonate, let alone somehow deactivate them. What had dropped into her lap was the perfect opportunity to make an impression.

Under normal circumstances, the collars of dead students didn't beep. They didn't seem to be active at all, in fact, unless someone were to cause enough damage to one to trip its very-much-still-operational security measures. All of that could be changed, however, with a few keystrokes. Monica's fingers flew across the keys of the netbook, typing. It was a typed interface, so that mistakes were nearly impossible. Anyone who might need to detonate a collar could type quickly and accurately enough that it wasn't notably different from point and click anyways. It took her under a second to set things in motion.

AUTHORIZATION: KZHX87GHS COLLAR(S): G062 SPEED: F CONFIRM: YES

And just like that, the collar around the neck of Rebecca Everett's corpse began to beep rapidly. A few seconds later, as the would-be escapees scattered, it exploded. And that, by all rights, should have been the end of that. Monica flipped a switch, bringing the audio for the screen online, even as its image shifted, now showing the students outside, from a direct side angle. The cameras this time were a nice mix of the old, classic, large ones and newer button cameras, set to activate and transmit based on motion detectors or manual commands. Students in past years had shown a tendency to focus on what they could see, often attempting to stand in blind spots. The setup crew had made sure that most buildings had an appealing corner or two, seemingly outside the range of the most prominent cameras, where the view from the smaller lenses was especially good.

Monica's smile flagged for a second as she heard what the students were saying, but then it returned, broader than ever.

They were going to try again? She blew up the corpse as a warning, and so they were going to try again? So be it. That old definition of insanity, the one everyone credited to Einstein, ran through her head. And if they had no hope of making any headway, if they didn't even have the first clue what they were doing, if detonating the boy's collar wasn't strictly necessary, well, there was nobody who would tell Monica not to kill him, either. She had full discretion, and this would be another useful little lesson. Maybe after this, the survivors would play nice.

AUTHORIZATION: KZHX87GHS COLLAR(S): B034 SPEED: F CONFIRM: YES

As they shouted and panicked and died, Monica took a drink of water. Killing someone hadn't felt like as big a deal as she'd expected. Maybe it was the distance involved. Whatever the case, she was glad to have given it a go when it wasn't crucial. If anyone else came closer, she now knew there would be no hesitation.

SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 8PM

One of the great mysteries for the students of Survival of the Fittest, one of the most niggling little unanswered questions, unknown even to those students who had survived, who had come face to face with the terrorists and asked questions and spoken their minds, revolved around something seemingly minor:

Who the hell took the time to drag someone up a mountain? To pin some sad unconscious kid into a coffin in a haunted house? To strap not one but two children into rollercoaster cars, each on a separate hump?

Who was the asshole who stuffed Bill Rich in a box?

Shamino Warhen was that asshole. It was part of his job. He always strove to keep humor and business separate, but every so often the two became inextricably linked, and it was then that he relished his work the most. He'd provided some of Victor Danya's better material, and while Tracen wasn't half bad, Greynolds had asked that Shamino give the boy a little crash course.

He'd already, very politely, pointed out that it was absolutely unheard of to name people involved with a kill who didn't pull the trigger. It had taken years for Victor to settle on that, but they'd decided that it was far and away the best choice, because it allowed for a little subterfuge, a little trickery.

But now Tracen knew, and it wouldn't happen again, and he'd agreed to let Shamino start the announcements off tomorrow, and the tech crew had been very accommodating of his little request, so everything would be a bucket of fun indeed. Tracen would write most of the material, but Shamino was pretty sure he'd get to steal the show.

SUNDAY, JUNE 17, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

"Good morning, kids," a voice boomed out. It was not Danya's voice, but that of a different man, smooth and calm and just a touch apologetic. "My name's James. I'm the collar guy, and, well, I'm sorry to say, after two promising days, nobody actually managed a kill yesterday. You know what that means."

At that, every student's collar emitted a single beep.

For two seconds after that, silence reigned. Tracen took a sip of his coffee. Shamino scratched his neck. Then he leaned forward again.

"Just kidding. Keep up the good work. Here's Danya with our main attraction."

"Thank you, James," the more familiar voice began. "While we're talking about everyone exploding, though, I have a little misconception to point out. Now, I told you all that any day without kills would end in every collar being blown. Far be it from me to discourage you from advancing our little game, but, to clarify, that's a day from one announcement to the next, not twenty-four hours on the dot between actual kills. I figured that'd be pretty self-evident, since it'd be stupid to blow you all up at noon because all the previous day's action went down in the morning and nobody quite managed to get in gear right after the announcement but, eh, I guess logical thinking isn't all of your strong suits.

"But, kids, I want you to know this: When I play, I play fair. The rules are what they are, and as long as you don't try to cheat, you have as good a chance as anyone else of seeing home again. Better, if you play your cards right. And that's the only way you ever will make it back.

"Now then, who died?"

Tracen held up a finger, and a technician muted the broadcast as he cleared his throat and took another drink.

"Brandon Baxter got himself into a tight spot in a danger zone. We were going to blow him up, but he beat us to the punch, setting off a pocketful of grenades. That's some real courtesy for you.

"Yasmin Carrol wasn't quite so clean about it. She managed to hang herself in the school building. I hope this doesn't become too much of a trend. Remember, even if it seems hopeless, you always stand a chance. I wouldn't have put money on some of our last winners.

"Rutherford Roger Junior rose from the dead and wreaked bloody vengeance upon Lauren Rowe, adding a nice new decoration to the haunted house.

"A short time later, Maximilian Sawyer struck, and in the space of a few minutes snatched away the title of top killer. He drowned Amy Bachelor in the hotel's swimming pool, then shot down Ilya Volkov and Lydia Robbins when they came to investigate and try to disarm him.

"In another failed attempt at vengeance, Nina Clarke fell prey to Madeline Wilcox. You'd think she'd have known better than to threaten the girl who stole her gun, but, like I said earlier, logic comes more easily to some than others.

"Rosemary Michaels thought she could remove Joey Caputo's collar with nothing but a little knife. It worked, too. Well, his head came off with it, but you can't have everything.

"Continuing the trend of collar stupidity, Clayton Leven wandered into a danger zone, and Tessa Blackridge tried to file her collar loose. You can add those to the list of ways to not make it back home.

"Joachim Lovelace surprised Adonis Alba, shooting him with his spring-loaded knife in the middle of their fight. That wasn't very sporting, Mr. Lovelace. Were you afraid you might not win fair and square?

"Mallory McCormick was gunned down in her own pillow fort, victim of Hansel Williams once again. Continuing the shooting trend, Yuan Stephanie Chan took out Brian Zhdanovich, and Makatala So'oialo bagged herself two points in the form of Carlon Wheeler and Alex Ripley.

"Finally, Natali Greer passed away in her sleep, after banging her head and not taking the time to look after it. Take care, kids. It's not just each other you have to watch out for. Nearly a third of our deaths today were from a stupidity epidemic.

"With that out of the way, today's danger zones are the Homestead again, the Nuclear Living Site, the Shipping Yard, the Northern Town, and the Southern Town. Our grand prize winner today was too close to call. With the office staff split, we've decided that Joachim Lovelace, Maximilian Sawyer, and Rosemary Michaels should all head into the southern part of town, to the overpass. We've dropped off two polish sausages and a pint of Neapolitan ice cream apiece, but only one weapon. We'll leave it to you three to figure that one out.

"I'll see the rest of you tomorrow."